Page 116 of There Are No Saints

I drink his cum like a gift.

I’m so dazed that I hardly notice when he pulls away. I only feel the absence of his taste and scent, his warm cock against my tongue. I want it back, intensely.

I whimper like a baby, begging him for more.

“Patience,” Cole says.

He’s loosening the restraints that pin me to the table. I think he’s going to lift me up and carry me somewhere, maybe to a bed in some hidden room. Instead, he rolls me over onto my stomach and tightens the chains once more, so I’m tied facedown instead.

He slots the vibrator underneath me so he doesn’t have to hold it anymore—it’s pinned in place under my body.

This feels good, but not quite as good because it’s only making light contact with my clit. I can’t get enough pressure.

Still, I feel light and floating. Flushed with chemicals from the three orgasms I had before.

I hear Cole moving around behind me. This position feels even more vulnerable. I squirm on the table, wishing that my legs weren’t winched apart, everything exposed to his view.

I hear the whisper of cloth and I realize he’s taking off the rest of his clothes. My heart beats faster, with fear and anticipation.

He pauses to press his finger to his phone, switching over the song.

The change in mood hits me like a slap.

This is no soft, floating ballad.

The new beat is steady, insistent. The voice comes in, young and deceptively innocent, but with an edge of menace.

**On Repeat Please**

Bad Things —Cults

Spotify → geni.us/no-saints-spotify

Apple Music → geni.us/no-saints-apple

My muscles tighten up, I grit my teeth.

Cole climbs on top of the table, sitting on the back of my thighs. He’s heavy. I’m reminded how tall he is, how strong. How easily he could overpower me even if I weren’t tied down.

Every time he shifts, his throbbing cock brushes over me, touching my thighs, my ass, like a tentacle, like a battering ram testing for weakness.

Maybe he knows my heart is racing too fast, because he begins to massage my back with long, slow strokes, calming me down.

He plays my body like an instrument, seeming to understand better than I do which places are tight, which are sore. I’ve never felt such strong hands gripping me, manipulating me. It’s terrifying. I’m completely in his power.

I’ve never let a man tie me up voluntarily, I never trusted anyone enough.

Now I’ve put myself under the control of the most terrifying person I’ve ever met. It’s suicidal. His hands knead my muscles like he’s tenderizing the flesh. Preparing it for slaughter.

Leaning over me, pinning me down with his weight, Cole murmurs, “Have you ever been spanked before?”

I’m sweating. Squirming. Realizing how thin the line is between nerves and hysteria.

“No,” I say. “And I don’t want to be.”

Cole lets out a sigh of disappointment.

“Don’t lie to me, Mara. I hate it when you lie.”

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